When Does It Get Better?
by MJTR
Summary: Six months after her breakup with Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown takes a trip to Platinum Flats in the hopes of getting over what she's lost. Along the way, she discovers a high-tech crime in the planning stages, a new ally, and the chance to reclaim one of her old identities. And through it all must come to terms with what she's lost and what could still be in store for her.
1. Chapter 1

When Does It Get Better?

A Fan Fiction by MJTR

[[Introduction: I write this story as someone who loves Tim and Stephanie more than almost any other couple in all of comic books. I'm not writing this as payback to any particular writer, character, or anything like that. It's just a story I've recently felt like telling. I've got my own reasons for doing this, ranging from working out stuff in my head to being experimental with material I've never written about before. As I've said before in other stories, everything I write is personal, though this, I'm thinking, will hit that note more than most any other work I've developed. I promise there will be a more conventional story here, but the more conventional story, by necessity, needs to accompany some of the more emotional, free-flowing material.

Regarding my other works- In the loosest sense I'm choosing to tie this back to _Angel of the Bat_ just because I like the thought of most all of my Batman related works coming back to it. But this definitively does _not_ tie in with the events of _Da Pacem Domine_ or _Beware the Batman_ (if I ever get back to it…). This is another slice of timeline that veers off from the main river the rest of this continuity flows through. I think that's it, let's get started.]]

The flight from Gotham to Star City is six and a half hours long, plus whatever it takes to check in and get through security. I had really hoped exhaustion was finally going to claim me for a little bit while I was in the air, but it only did the bare minimum. Tired and cranky was how I left, tired and trying to suppress cranky was how I landed. And with that bad kink in my neck, I really wished I hadn't been too proud to just let Bruce upgrade me to first class. He was spending or losing enough on me already, with the California apartment he owned the whole complex for, and the big chunk of money put away so I could live off the interest. For as much as I used to feel like his least wanted apprentice, I sure could be expensive, the more I thought about it. I wondered if that was how he expressed his love for all of us, or if he was just overly excited for a chance to get me out of his hair. He deserves more of my trust than that, I know he does, but it's hard for me to shake things I've been thinking for a long time.

Aboard the plane, I only took in a little glance at the rest of the people I'd spent the last quarter of a day with. They all looked to be burned out too. Even the toddler across the row from me barely made a peep the entire flight. Maybe that kid had recently become unexpectedly sick of life too. I slid my purse and laptop bag out of the overhead compartment and made for baggage claim. On a different trip, I probably would have embarrassed myself trying to convince the people at the ticket counter I could fit my suitcase into the overhead bin to save some cash. Money didn't come easily to my family when I was growing up, my instinct would have been to just try to push and cram. But checked luggage apparently wasn't something I thought I was above that day. Enough clothes to comfortably cycle through over the course of six months was difficult enough to even get in my dinky suitcase to begin with.

While I waited for the treadmill to start and fork over my stuff, the shrill, upbeat ringtone I'd been meaning to change forever went off. I think the guy in the suit and tie who waited next to me cracked up, I tried my best to ignore him.

Babs: You land OK?

Me: Yeah. Getting suitcase now.

Babs: I'll pull around, see you in around 10?

Me: K

My little home away from home was another half hour outside of Star City in Platinum Flats. Barbara and the Birds of Prey had been operating out of there on and off for a while, Bruce wanted me to be somewhere I could still contact someone in the family if I needed it. I, on the other hand, wanted to get as far away from Gotham as I could manage for a while.

The overstuffed suitcase, eggplant colored like everything I bought when I was fourteen, slowly slipped past me when I wasn't paying attention. After a short chase I messaged Barbara that I'd be outside entrance E. As she'd said, she arrived in a dark green SUV about five minutes later. In spite of everything, that made me crack up a little bit. I was sure there were all kinds of practical reasons for the leader of a team of vigilantes to drive that soccer mom car. It probably got good gas mileage, could transport multiple people to a crime scene inconspicuously, maybe it even had hidden compartments to store weapons in. But no matter what the reason was, that didn't make it any less funny. I waited around the back of the car for a hand getting my big, heavy suitcase into the trunk. After a minute or two the blood rushed to my cheeks in embarrassment. Of course wheelchair-bound Barbara wasn't going to help me lug the stupid thing in. I felt around for the trunk's button, popped it myself, and shoved my luggage inside. Barbara didn't say anything to me until after I climbed into the front seat.

"Hey there," she said. "How was the flight?"

"It was fine. Tried to get some sleep, but you know."

"Sure, sure." Barbara flipped on her turning signal as she approached the last road separating the airport from the city. "Bruce said he set you up at the Riviera right now, is that right?"

I shut my eyes, leaned my head against the window and said, "Yeah."

"Do you… you know, want to talk about?"

I breathed a deep sigh. "Not really."

The whole trip across the country was supposed to get me away from people asking if I wanted to talk about it. And I sincerely hoped that, since Barbara was supposed to have been married by then too, she'd find it in her heart to not press the issue. As she drove me through the urban oasis on the way to my home for the next six months in silence, that hope proved to be well placed.

Bruce reassured me so many times that I was still part of the team that it began to sound suspicious. Cassie asked me all the time how I was feeling and I really couldn't figure out if brutal honesty or lies so obvious she could read them were worse. And my mom—damn it all, I love my mom— but she was so dedicated to being on my side it just made everything hurt worse. I can't tell which of her statements are and always have been true and which ones have just recently been exacerbated. Sometimes she used to tell me she thought he was a flake, but she never really got the chance to see the whole picture. Once in a while she saw some of my cuts and bruises from a bad night out and tried to stage an intervention for teenage abuse. And once or twice since everything went up in smoke, she told me she never thought he was all that good for me. Maybe deep down she was right, but I always thought he just made me want to be a better person.

I shut my eyes, Barbara didn't object, and I still didn't fall asleep. Maybe that was the one true intention of coming to Platinum Flats. I was going to waltz into whatever bourgie apartment Bruce had set me up with, lie down in bed, and do everything in my power to sleep until I made up for all the hours I'd lost.

In college, we had to read _Rip Van Winkle_ by Washington Irving, which was about a man who fell asleep for twenty years, woke up in a totally different world, and just sorta took it in passing. Because the professor wanted to try being hip, she compared him to the Dude from _The Big Lebowski_. Rip and the Dude probably wouldn't be all that bothered that their fiancé had just suddenly broken up with them after eight years together. If anything, Rip would shrug his shoulders and the Dude would just demand she return that rug he'd contributed to the condo. But I hadn't contributed a rug to the condo, I hadn't really contributed much of anything except myself. And it was painfully obvious at that point how much that was worth. Either way, no matter how much I wanted it, I couldn't fall asleep more than a few measly hours on the best nights and couldn't make myself stop caring.

Whatever sleep I did manage to get was interrupted when the SUV finally came to a halt and Barbara said, "Here we are."

I gazed out the window at two dozen buildings, each filled with six units my parents never could have paid for at any point when I was growing up. Barbara offered me a little envelope with my key in it, which I accepted.

"Don't just mope around all day every day, okay Steph?"

I mustered half of a smile. "Thanks for dropping me off."

Barbara looked like she was going to retort that I wasn't responding to her question, but seemed to drop the matter quickly. "Text me, okay? I'll take you out to lunch, we can hang out when the others don't have my hands full."

"Thanks. And I will."

After another short pause to contemplate, Barbara shifted the car back into drive and left me with the key, my suitcase, and all of my feelings.

There was one thought that dominated all the rest of them, of course there was. It was only one word that occasionally and irregularly beat on the side of my mind. And every time it did I felt just a little bit worse.

_Tim. Tim Tim Tim Tim Tim Tim Tim._

How do you go from, "I'm ready to spend the rest of my life with you" to, "Thinking your name hurts me?"


	2. Chapter 2

After I'd reported my safe arrival to my mom, Bruce, and Cassie, I think I managed to go three whole days without interacting with anyone. The fridge in my little nest was already stocked with provisions, the freezer was full of ready meals because no one had ever really taught me how to cook when I was growing up. I fumbled around on the TV with Bruce's credit card until I had all the streaming services I couldn't get enough quality time with set up. And then I eased into the big leather couch and slowly felt myself turn into those rich bitches from high school who could forget whatever pain they had with enough of Daddy's money.

Then I shuddered when I realized I'd just mentally called Bruce, "Daddy."

On the third day, when I was in bed and had gotten as far as "No more bras, ever!" on my list of "Pros and cons of never leaving this apartment," the phone rang.

I groaned, rolled over and answered, "Hello?"

"I told you not to just lay in there all day." It was Babs.

"Sorry, director, I'm just having a little trouble with my character's motivation." I scratched my eyes. "How do you even know I haven't been anywhere else?"

"I've got your entire apartment bugged with cameras. You agreed to that when you signed your lease."

I shot up to a sitting position in disbelief. "I did what?!"

"I'm kidding." Babs didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "You just confirmed that you haven't been doing anything with the first part of your response, kiddo."

A few bitter words slipped under my breath.

"But if you don't go get some fresh air and stretch your legs for a bit, I'm going to dig into your unit's air conditioning and shut it off. And this city gets hot enough as it is."

"Yeah yeah yeah." She was probably joking again, but I wasn't about to take my chances with the planet's best computer hacker.

"You want to go get sushi with me on Tuesday? That's two days from now, in case you've lost track. Two days, Tuesday."

She was laying the condescension on pretty thick, but one of my very specific request for the trip was, "Please don't just pander to me." So I said, "Sure. That sounds good. Thank you."

She didn't keep me much longer, so I was soon fishing clothes out of my suitcase. There was plenty of room in the big, chestnut dressers near my bed, but I hadn't felt like putting everything away yet. And if that was pathetic, I didn't know what to call the used clothes I had all tossed in a sloppy stack in one corner. When I was a kid and Dad was in and out of jail and Mom worked late shifts at the hospital, I almost took my messy bedroom as something to be proud of with my classmates. If my parents were chill enough to never make me clean up, that made them cool, and that made me cool too. About the time Mom started hitting the pain killers, I decided she really could use another hand around the house. Tim, in the hopes of keeping things as concise as possible, was better organized and expected me to improve. And then, at long last, everything came full circle: me and a lack of motivation to keep clean.

I stepped into the heat of a California summer in a purple T-shirt, capris I'd never worn before, and sandals. There was something off about the air, somehow it just tasted exactly what I imagined desert air would: dry, slightly salty, and thick. Even with the greenery around the complex and the clean water, I think Platinum Flats still gets little enough rainfall to meet the technical definition of desert. I just reminded myself a couple times that all I had to do was take a walk around the surrounding area, then I could get back to feeling sorry for myself with air conditioning.

Someone, one of my neighbors, I guessed, was out with a big, chocolate Labrador. The part of my mind that really needed to shut up reminded me Tim and I had never settled on a breed or a name for a dog when we got one. Which we absolutely wanted to do, once the time was right. When it ever could have been right.

Scrolling through news on my cell phone would have defeated part of the point of getting out of the apartment but desperation for distraction set in fast. Thanks to the creepy magic of location tracking, I got a lot more big tech news than I was used to. A lot of it went right over my head, which, not to sound all anti-intellectual, but I think I was okay with. My life had gotten strange enough without needing to know why the latest, greatest juicer on earth needed a 4G connection to work properly. Or why investors were lining up to invest in the thing. The one story I bothered to tap on was an interview with this robotics mogul, Erik Timmins. The interviewer got a whole tour of his fancy pantsy mansion, which Timmins claimed to use hundreds of separate but interconnected AI to keep in tip top shape. His kitchen floor was covered in sensors that could pick up on food stains and scrub them away. The pool was pre-programmed to stay at exactly 82.254 degrees and a PH of 7.42314 and could adjust for the smallest leaf falling in and tampering with that purity. And Timmins even joked that he could force his adult son out of his bedroom and run an automated track to force him outside to get a life, if he had to. I guess I could relate to his kid a little, in that case.

Just a few minutes' walk outside the complex was a bridge over the interstate, and on the other side was a stretch of high fashion, tech, and health food stores. Since I'd slept through most of the trip out, I couldn't remember any specifics, and I decided a walk around them might kill some time.

The cars down on the highway threw up a lot of gross, dry wind. I was briefly reminded of my old adventures in Africa with Leslie Thompkins and wondered if I'd turned into a wimp since then. After making it through everything awful I didn't even like to think about before then, was I really about to let some stupid guy mess me up so badly?

Well, apparently even after that internal argument, the answer was still yes.

The handful of shops with foreign sounding names that was probably too good to be called an outlet mall mostly proved a waste of time. I couldn't find a set of headphones for less than fourteen dollars at the Natler Electronics store, and even on Bruce's dime I just didn't want to pay that. My inability to locate the prices on a bottle of juice and a box of fruit bars cost me nearly twenty bucks at the Nature's Finest grocery store next door and, perhaps more insultingly, my perky cashier made me crack maybe my first uncomfortable smile in a couple of days with her dedicated service.

I was a little sweaty and winded when I got back to my nest. It sucked to feel like I was embodying every stupid stereotype ever, but I'd probably gained some weight in the last six months of occasional Chinese food binges and decreased running around at night. As I changed into some gym shorts and settled in on the big, leather couch in the living room to flip through my streaming services, I opened a new text from Cassie. Short, sweet, and to the point, it read, "Everything okay there?"

Me: Too hot, too expensive, Barbara's been instructed to hassle me.

About a minute later, I sent a part two.

Me: And I think my sweaty leg is stuck to the couch. Leather was a baaaaaaad choice for this place. Tell Sadie I said hi.

The very first show Netflix recommended I watch was a whole season of something called, "Interloper." Which, I gleaned from the description, was some kind of sci-fi soap opera about a married scientist who discovers a nearly dead dimension-hopping alien, nurses it back to health, and the two slowly engage in some kind of forbidden romance.

That was the first time I ever tried operating a remote control with my middle finger.


	3. Chapter 3

Babs picked me up for lunch at a Japanese place called Akubono on Wednesday, as we'd planned. I didn't have a whole lot of exposure to sushi when I was growing up, money was usually tight with my mom. So as the waiter led us through the dimly-lit restaurant, out onto the patio, and presented us with our menus, I wracked my brain for how best not to look like an idiot when I ordered. But about the only thing life had ever taught me about Japanese cuisine is that little green glob is definitely not pistachio ice cream.

"So," Barbara said as she opened her menu, "what do you think of California so far?"

"It's hot," I said. "And if I wasn't hooked up to a billionaire's bank account, I'd gawk at every single price I've seen on the gas station signs. And on every set of headphones. And every pair of aviator sunglasses too, I'll bet." I glanced down at my menu. "I've never had octopus. You think I'd like octopus?"

"Maybe, if you're feeling especially adventurous today," Barbara said. "You'll probably like edamame though, so I'll order some for the table."

I scanned the menu again and decided I had no idea how the word she'd just said was spelled. "Google 'etta-mommy'" was added to my mental list of things to do that night. "The apartment's comfy," I said. "And if everyone leaves me alone, maybe I'll get through that show about the sexy brothers who fight monsters."

Barbara chuckled. "Well, it's always good to start with goals, my dad always said."

"My dad always said, 'Stop drawing unicorns on my blueprints of city hall, Steph!'"

She sighed with a little smirk and shook her head. "Tuna and California rolls are usually a safe bet if you're trying to take your first foray into eating raw fish." Our waiter turned up to take our order just a second later. Barbara told him, "We're still deciding on main courses, but edamame would be good for the table. And how about a Kirin?"

"Of course," the waiter said. "Can I just see some ID?"

Booze, that got my attention. "Better make that two.".

"Of course," he said again. "I'll just need to see yours too."

The waiter only took a second to observe Barbara's driver's license before he handed it back to her. When I finally fished mine out, he took a few more than that and I think I caught him look back and forth between me and my picture at least once. The reasonable part of my brain said he was probably just doing the mental math to confirm I was, indeed, over twenty-one. The more assertive, paranoid half managed to ask if I'd gained too much weight to resemble the picture anymore or if sadness had really aged me prematurely before he handed the card back and said he'd return soon.

"Well, if you'd like a little break from all of your wallowing, I think I've we've come up with a little something you can help us out with." Barbara fished around in her laptop bag for a second, slipped what looked like a manila envelope onto the table, the letters, "B-O-P" were printed on the center and faced me down.

It took me a second to conclude the acronym almost certainly stood for, "Birds of Prey" and I let out a little, "Eep!" After a moment to regain my composure, I spoke in a whisper. "Is this the best place to be discussing that?"

"Kid, this is Platinum Flats." Barbara paused to smile at the waiter as he set down our two bottles of Kirin. She resumed after the waiter departed again. "There's probably a dozen other people discussing intrigue at this very restaurant at this very second. Corporate espionage is practically vogue down here." Babs took a sip her bottle.

"Corporate espionage? Since when do you guys deal with corporate espionage?"

"Since a business in the area has become a target for some very bad people. The place we're keeping an eye on is called Chromium. They're a fresh face in the market of 'home assistants,' but their IPO was pretty impressive."

"Uh huh." I put a hand on my chin as if I was deep in thought. "Can you explain it to me in a way that makes sense to someone who barely eeked by with a B minus in her one required business class?"

"You ever see those old House of Tomorrow cartoons Warner Brothers used to do? It's like that mixed with nanobots. Micro-managed temperature control, self-cleaning flooring, AI that'll respond when you talk to it, the works. "

"Huh, all right." I leaned into one of my hands and took another swig of Kirin. "And what are you telling this to me for?"

Babs opened her mouth to reply, but the waiter cut her off when he set down a bowl of what looked to be steaming peas still in their pods. He asked, "Are we ready to order?"

She looked to me and asked, "Did you mean it when you were asking me about octopus?"

I blinked more times than was necessary as I tried to remember when exactly octopus had come up. Apparently, that bit of the conversation seemed miles away from me. "Uh, I don't know, I guess."

"An order of Mahi Mahi for me, California roll for her, half an order of the Spider-Man II for the table."

"Of course." The waiter took the menus and again left us in peace.

I squinted at Babs, almost involuntarily. "The Spider-Man?"

"It's made with spider crab and, in this place's case, octopus."

It felt as if floodgates were being tapped at. "So, is Spider-Man real? Like, one universe over? I feel like I've heard it both ways—"

Barbara glared at me over her glasses. "You asked me to simplify the business talk. Do you actually want to get into a conversation about how the multiverse works?"

I raised both hands in defensive surrender. "Fair point, I'll be quiet and eat the sushified Spider-Man then."

"Getting back to the point I was trying to…" She opened the folder and showed me the mugshot of a gangly, sallow-faced, blonde haired man in a pair of thick glasses. "As you can probably imagine, Chromium's technology has a lot of potential evil applications. Erik Timmons, he's the CEO, seems decent, and he, of course, has to jump through a lot of legal hoops to even get his tech to market. This guy, however," she paused to tap at the photo. "Is placing a bounty for whoever wants to steal it. His name's Noah Kuttler, calls himself the Calculator, we have a long history together."

"And I guess there's a reason Dinah or Helena can't just waltz up and punch him in the face?" I reached out and grabbed one of the pea-like things off the plate between us and rolled it between my hands to figure out how to go at it.

"Bite the skin open," Babs said. "Then you can push the beans into your mouth."

"Beans?" I frowned but did as she said. The vegetable skin with oily and salty and whatever was inside actually had a good crunch to it. "Huh, that's not bad at all."

"Those are soybeans," Babs said. "As for Kuttler, he's dropped off the map, at least for the time being. I've tracked his movements on the internet's underbelly for a while. And he doesn't usually come out to fight by himself, so putting out a job like this is par the course for him."

Babs turned to the next page of the folder. In the middle was the big, bearded, smiling face of Erik Timmons, at least that was what the sidebar said. Behind him was a set of interconnected octagons in a honeycomb formation I guessed was the company's logo. On the bottom half of the page was written, "Brilliant New Minds Sought for a Brilliant New Venture."

"Timmons has a registration-only student forum coming up at one of his factories in town," Barbara said. "Judging by some of what I could dig up on Kuttler's plans, I think at least a few of his cronies are going to be there, maybe to plant a camera or some hacking equipment, something like that."

After what was probably too long, I swallowed my latest bite of soybean and asked, "So, what? You want me to fight his goons or something?"

"No fisticuffs will be necessary on your part. We just want you to be our eyes and ears for the tour. If anyone seems suspicious, just tell us who and how. Dinah was going to attend, but we all agreed, however reluctantly, you're a more convincing college student than she is."

I tried for a sarcastic "Hmph." And then added, "Maybe because I am a college student? Even if I'm taking a semester off?"

Babs smirked. "Well, I guess that means you're up for the job then?"

I wanted to come up with a decent retort, but after I thought about it for more than a few seconds, I was actually kind of touched. My teammates back in Gotham never seemed all that enthusiastic about me when I was out in the Spoiler or Robin or even the Batgirl suits. But here was Barbara, the original Batgirl, asking for Stephanie's help. Maybe the dismissive response was just at the forefront of my mind because I was so unused to the feeling of being wanted like that.

"You know what?" I took another gulp of Kirin for the extra push. "You've won me over, I'm in."

The look on Babs face seemed both expectant yet satisfied. "Spoiler alert, you won't regret this."

I cracked up hard enough to almost choke on a bit of edamame. After a slurp of beer with a tea chaser and a moment to compose myself, I said, "That's my line, and it's officially buried forever. You're not asking Spoiler for help today."

"Yeah, all right." She raised her bottle, mostly empty, and leaned it toward my side of the table. "Cheers for just recruiting Steph then?"

With a little _clink_, I cheered to that. Lunch was pretty good, even though I determined octopus had a lot more chew than it did flavor. But the food was the last thing on my mind by the end. I may have been too distracted for the hero biz back in Gotham, but I could handle a favor for a friend. At least it would force me to get out for a while.


End file.
